


Castles In Spain

by DJs_Random_Writings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Happy Shiro?, It's just an idea but here goes . . ., M/M, Other, is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-12-31 13:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJs_Random_Writings/pseuds/DJs_Random_Writings
Summary: An idea for a Voltron AU I came up with. It may take me a while, but we'll see what we get.(See notes on first chapter for more details.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I basically want a Voltron AU, where it's a live action show and the characters are actually actors.
> 
> I was watching this crack video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtgpkG9HwnQ) and at 2:27, there's a section called, "When the Paladins aren't on camera", and hence, this shitty (but inspired you gotta admit) idea was born.
> 
> This post is literally just gonna be a bunch of my ideas, and if you like it, please feel free to comment and let me know. If I know people like my ideas, I tend to write the actual story quicker.
> 
> I kinda wanna point out, I haven't actually watched the show yet, I'm relying on crack videos, so, yeah. If it's shit, just tell me what you think. 
> 
> To make things easier, the actors have the same names as the characters. It might seem weird, but I thought about it, swore many, many times out loud, and decided to stop thinking about it. Because fuck it, I should be studying for my Chemistry exam, finishing my English essay, studying for Maths, and practicing for my Music performance, but instead I'm doing this, so let's not screw with my brain too much.
> 
> (Sorry for the spouting.) :)

 

**_ IMPORTANT! READ THE NOTES! UNDERSTAND THEM! AND THEN READ THIS PIECE OF SHIT/ART!  THANKS!  :) _ **

 

 

* * *

_Takashi Shirogane (Shiro):_

Shiro was not a struggling arts student. If anyone ever asked (especially his Nan) he would always laugh and brush them off.

_"Yeah, the pay at the cafe's not great, but the rent's not too bad so I don't starve. And besides, I got a scholarship for acting school, all expenses paid!"_

Agreed, it could be hard, but Shiro had figured out how to buy food and be an adult (sort of), and having a Nan like his, it was actually hard to not get help with the rent.

It  _was_  hard growing up only remembering one parent, and only a scarce amount of that one. Shiro's mum died in childbirth, his dad died in a crash when he was nine. In that same car crash, Shiro lost most of his right arm and was left with a scar across his face. Finding a decent prosthetic limb was difficult, but nowadays, pretty much anything's possible when you have the money. And you know what wasn't hard? Money. (Unless you were calling it, 'cold, hard cash.')

His dad had been loaded when he died, and that didn't stop after he did so, as his mother, Shiro's Nan continued to run the company, and if Shiro had wanted it, he had money at his fingertips (almost literally considering the mightily expensive metal arm he carried around).

But he hadn't wanted it. Shiro (being Shiro and obstinately stubborn about these sorts of things) didn't want _help_. He'd scored a scholarship, and he was proud of it. He was going to make it worthwhile, and he was going to teach himself to be grateful for what little he had.

His Nan had understood completely, but that didn't stop her hounding him over the phone every Sunday after she got home from church.

 _"Have you eaten well this week?"_ (Her personal favourite.)

 _"Is your flat leaking?"_ (The answer was always, 'no', the landlord was a bit of a handyman and kept all of his flats in good repair.)

 _"How's school?"_ ("Uh, yeah, great, Nan! We've been studying script writing and reading. Yeah . . . Oh, right, you meant tuition fees. Nan, I've got a scholarship. Yeah, they pay for everything . . . Uh-huh . . . Hang on, I think that's Matt . . . Yeah, it is! Got to go, Nan, sorry. Same time next week? . . . Cool, love you lots."

 

Yeah, Shiro was doing fine, but as soon as he read the scrappy letter on the campus notice board, he was interested.

_Small project, sponsored by DreamWorks._

_Needs actors with minimal experience._

_Auditions this Friday evening at 6pm. If you can't make it, call the emergency contact at the bottom of this note._

_The job is paying, and will supply credits for St. Tracy Memorial Campus students._

_For more information see . . ._

 

No, Shiro was not broke. And yes, the note looked dodgy as all fuck. The thing about DreamWorks was probably fake. But it also looked _interesting_. The guy, Paul Bishop, had evidently put a lot of thought into it, even giving it a name and a symbol.

**Voltron: Legendary Defenders.**

Yeah, it had a nice ring to it, and Shiro could definitely get his head around being a  _paid_  actor anytime. 

* * *

 

 

Boudie and Jackson had been Shiro’s neighbours since he moved into the flat when he started at St. Tracy’s.

Both of them were mechanics at the workshop down the road.

Shiro hadn’t even suspected they were gay until he walked in on Boudie undoing Jackson’s belt with his teeth.

Their ship name is Backson. Shiro refuses to mention it ever again.

* * *

 

 

_Katie Holt (Pidge):_

The only reason Pidge got dragged into it all, was because of her pain in the ass little cousin.

Yes, the little cousin who was six foot to her five-two-nine. Believe it or not, Pidge could actually remember a time when she was taller than him . . . just.

Takashi could be a little shit, and an absolute smartass, but he was also one of the sweetest guys Pidge had ever met, and she _had_ promised to keep an eye on him. He acted his twenty-two years, but Pidge knew Takashi was still a kid compared to her. He still saw the good in the world, the hope that shone down on sunny days, and the music that played in the surf along the waterfront.

Takashi was in early summer, Pidge had witnessed the harsh cold of winter itself.

But Pidge was not one of those bastards in their late twenties who blame everything on the next generation. She knew her failures were all her own.

Didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

Pidge should have been a robotics engineer. This time three years ago, she thought that plan was mint. Her parents didn’t.

You see, most parents would love for their child to become an engineer, get rich, and buy them stuff, but Pidge had been a child star, involved in plenty of stage shows over the years, so hers were convinced that acting was all she was destined for.

Yeah, Pidge loved acting, but she never considered it for a job, so it was hardly fair that her parents forced her to go to acting school.

Of course, Pidge wanted to be an engineer, so she was smart, and she formed a plan; Go to acting school _and_ university, become swamped in shit loads of work, fuck up, drop out of uni (but stay in acting school because, ‘parents’) and hate life. Yay.

So now, she was back at uni, studying the same course again, having graduated from acting school last year.

But for some obscure reason, she’d decided to give a shit about her little-but-not-little cousin, and was back at the St. Tracy campus. She couldn’t find Takashi and was getting irritated. Where the **fuck** could he be?

It was as she was passing the notice board that she noticed the letter. It was kind of hard not to notice it, it was covered in bright pink highlighter. After reading it through, she scowled and sighed.

Yes, if Pidge wanted to find Takashi, she’d have to go to the auditions.

* * *

 

As a child, Lance was an excitable spaz. You might think not much has changed, but he was _annoying._ To the point where he got kicked out of multiple _kindergartens._ He hadn’t even made it to school and his parents were getting phone calls home almost every day.

It was the seventh kindergarten (his parents were counting) that found the answer.

Dance.

Actually, it was the work experience kid. She had the same issues when she was his age, and immediately took Lance under her wing, even asking his parents if she could take him to her ballet class.

His parents were hesitant, but when she insisted it would be good for him, they agreed.

Lance mastered ballet and even figure skating (oddly enough as he was _extremely_ clumsy off the rink.

Everyone remembered the teen who cried the most at her funeral. Turns out even Lance failed to cure her depression, and dancing, which once fixed her hyperactive disorder, could not heal her mind any more.

* * *

 

Hunk and Lance had been friends since kindergarten (the seventh one) but Keith and Lance didn’t meet until Lance left middle school for high school.

Hunk had not gone to the same school, but heard quite a lot about the hot-boy-in-the-school’s-emo-band, as Hunk was the only person who knew about Lance’s bisexuality.

Hunk (being Hunk and an awesome friend) agreed to go to the restaurant where the band was playing that Friday night, and also agreed to be Lance’s ‘wingman’. Anything really, to get a good look at Lance’s crush (because, hey, Hunk was allowed to be curious, he _was_ Lance’s best friend).

And Lance (being Lance) could not keep his mouth shut, _at all,_ eventually getting a shout out from the mullet wielding lead guitarist.

After that, Lance was considerably quieter.

 

Lance didn’t see Keith until next Monday, and almost regretted being a dick on Friday. Almost.

Keith looked terrible, and that thought crossed even Lance’s mind. He had grey shadows under his eyes and looked like the newest recruit for the undead army.

It wasn’t until Keith walked into the classroom door at the start of break that Lance decided to talk to him.

“Uh, hey, you might remember me-”

“You’re the asshole from Friday. I can’t really forget you.”

“Yeah . . . sorry,” Lance rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I get a little excitable sometimes in the evenings-”

“Yeah, sorry to interrupt but I’m really not in the mood to talk to spastics. Get me a coffee and I might consider it.”

Lance watched Keith walk away, the taller boy’s shoulders drooping with despair.

 

Ten minutes later, Lance plunked himself down on the floor next to Keith and sheepishly held the coffee cup out towards him. Despair didn’t hang around Lance long, sheepishness was sort of the only long standing emotion he had.

Keith, looked from Lance to the cup and back, wide eyed, before taking it.

“Thanks?”

“You better be, I had to get past Honker to bunk out of the school for that.” He jerked his chin at the coffee cup and huffed out a breath, having run all the way to the coffee shop and back.

Keith laughed at their English teacher’s nickname, and Lance looked over at him, almost shocked.

“I really wanted to talk to you.”

Now this really surprised Keith.

“Why would you want to talk to me?”

Lance looked over at him and shrugged.

“I figured us hot dudes should stick together. You know?”

Keith shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, loser.”

Lance looked like a puppy that had just been thrown a treat.

* * *

 

Neither of them admitted to remembering how Lance asked Keith out, but they both did really; holding that memory closer than their own hearts.

It had been after a soccer game, Lance and Keith were sitting on the now empty pitch, watching the sun set and the stars come out. Lance still sweaty and practically glowing from the recent win . . . Keith was stealing glances at him, smiling to himself.

Lance said something that wasn’t remotely funny. Keith laughed, not to please Lance, but because somehow, the ridiculousness of it made it seem _hilarious._

Then the words had popped out of Keith’s mouth and bombarded a startled Lance before Keith could snatch them out of the air and bury them deep forever.

“I _love_ you.”

There was a moment of silence, Lance staring at Keith with his mouth hanging open, Keith staring at the grass, crimson spilling onto his cheeks.

Just as Keith looked up, and excuse to leave on his lips, Lance kissed him. It was a pretty terrible kiss, but neither of them cared much. For teenage boys, it’s quantity, not quality.

* * *

 

It had happened shortly after Keith and Lance had started dating (which Hunk was over the _moon_ about btw).

Lance remembered watching his mum’s lips move, not hearing any words after, “She’s dead, Lance.”

The tears rolled down his cheeks and he did _not_ remember giving them permission to do that.

And he’d ran away.

Like he always did.

He was always just the boy who ran away.

At least that’s what he thought.

Lance’s mum saw a boy who was much older than he should have been. He already had the world on his shoulders, why did she have to burden him with more bad news?

Hunk saw his best friend in the whole entire world, and he _knew_ that nothing would come between them. No matter how hard it tried.

Keith saw someone who’s emotional strength greatly surpassed the type of strength he strived for in the gym. And not only did that _infuriate_ him, but it made him fall even _more_ hopelessly in love with him. With _Lance_. With the boy that cried openly, spoke freely, and wore his heart on his sleeve. And that infuriated Keith as well, but most things did, so that was alright.

 

For some reason Lance found himself at Keith’s place, and soon he was pounding on the door, hot tears still rolling down his cheeks.

The door was jerked open, and a tall, balding man stood, looking Lance up and down disapprovingly.

“Well,” he snapped, “What do you want?”

“K-Keith?” Lance stuttered.

“No, that’s not my name-”

Keith barged past him.

“Lance?!”

Without even waiting for an answer, he grabbed Lance by the front of his shirt and dragged him up to his room.

Slamming the door (and locking it) Keith whirled on Lance and grabbed him by his shoulders.

“Lance! I told you not to come here-” Keith trailed off as he saw the tears rolling down his boyfriend’s face.

“Oh God. Lance? What happened?”

Lance hiccupped and only managed to say, “She’s gone, Keith. She killed herself-” before bursting into renewed tears.

Keith didn’t say anything. He just pulled Lance into his arms and held him tight.

* * *

Yes, Spacedad is gonna be making a comeback . . .

* * *

 

“Hey, Shiro-”

Shiro was curled up under his desk, covered in a blanket, with only his rainbow socks and hair floof sticking out.

“Uh . . .”

For once, Liz was actually lost for words, mainly because she had so many questions. For instance, ‘How manly are those socks, Shiro?’ sprung to mind, followed by, ‘What happened?’ and, ‘How do you even fit under that blanket?’. She also had half a mind to take pictures and laugh.

She couldn’t help it. There was something so comical about seeing a guy almost twice her height with the ability to stay standing after running ten miles straight and bench pressing four twenty year-olds (albeit skinny ones) huddled under a cat patterned blanket and . . . was he whimpering?

“Shiro, you’re gonna have to tell me what happened if you want me to stop laughing at you.”

Shiro’s face came into view, glaring at her.

“School is hard.”

“Dude, trust me, I know, but you go to acting school. How hard can it be?”

Shiro ‘humphed’, and merely said, “I thought you ‘knew everything there was to know’ about acting school.”

“Aww, come on, you and I both know I’m not _completely_ perfect.”

That brought a laugh, though he hid it well.

* * *

 

 

Shiro and Lance got along surprisingly well, despite the fact they were almost polar opposites.

Lance liked talking about the latest internet craze at loud volumes.

Shiro didn't mind listening as long as he didn't have to actually,  _listen._

But Lance could still be too much sometimes, eventually, Shiro broke.

"Hey, Lance?"

Lance stopped mid-word.

"Yeah, Shiro?"

"You wanna know a secret?"

"Sure!"

"I once lost, like, 27 pounds over the course of a week."

Lance's jaw dropped.

"Seriously? Dude, what  _is_ your secret?"

Shiro looked back down at his phone, deadpanning.

"I had my arm ripped off."


	2. Chapter One:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, so, for now, the chapters are days, because I'm too lazy to sort anything else out.  
> (And I know it's really short, I'm working on getting these written. Sorry!)
> 
> :)

Shiro was not a struggling arts student. If anyone ever asked (especially his Nan) he would always laugh and brush them off.

_"Yeah, the pay at the cafe's not great, but the rent's not too bad so I don't starve. And besides, I got a scholarship for acting school, all expenses paid!"_

Agreed, it could be hard, but Shiro had figured out how to buy food and be an adult (sort of), and having a Nan like his, it was actually hard to not get help with the rent.

It  _was_  hard growing up only remembering one parent, and only a scarce amount of that one. Shiro's mum died in childbirth, his dad died in a crash when he was nine. In that same car crash, Shiro lost most of his right arm and was left with a scar across his face. Finding a decent prosthetic limb was difficult, but nowadays, pretty much anything's possible when you have the money. And you know what wasn't hard? Money. (Unless you were calling it, 'cold, hard cash.')

His dad had been loaded when he died, and that didn't stop after he did so, as his mother, Shiro's Nan continued to run the company, and if Shiro had wanted it, he had money at his fingertips (almost literally considering the mightily expensive metal arm he carried around).

But he hadn't wanted it. Shiro (being Shiro and obstinately stubborn about these sorts of things) didn't want _help_. He'd scored a scholarship, and he was proud of it. He was going to make it worthwhile, and he was going to teach himself to be grateful for what little he had.

His Nan had understood completely, but that didn't stop her hounding him over the phone every Sunday after she got home from church.

 _"Have you eaten well this week?"_ (Her personal favourite.)

 _"Is your flat leaking?"_ (The answer was always, 'no', the landlord was a bit of a handyman and kept all of his flats in good repair.)

 _"How's school?"_ ("Uh, yeah, great, Nan! We've been studying script writing and reading. Yeah . . . Oh, right, you meant tuition fees. Nan, I've got a scholarship. Yeah, they pay for everything . . . Uh-huh . . . Hang on, I think that's Peter . . . He gives me my lifts to school in the mornings . . . Got to go, Nan, sorry. Same time next week? . . . Cool, love you lots."

 

Yeah, Shiro was doing fine, but as soon as he read the scrappy letter on the campus notice board, he was interested.

_Small project, sponsored by DreamWorks._

_Needs actors with minimal experience._

_Auditions this Friday evening at 6pm. If you can't make it, call the emergency contact at the bottom of this note._

_The job is paying, and will supply credits for St. Tracy Memorial Campus students._

_For more information call . . ._

 

No, Shiro was not broke. And yes, the note looked dodgy as all fuck. The thing about DreamWorks was probably fake. But it also looked _interesting_. The guy, Paul Bishop, had evidently put a lot of thought into it, even giving it a name and a symbol.

Voltron: Legendary Defenders.

Yeah, it had a nice ring to it, and Shiro could definitely get his head around being a  _paid_  actor anytime.

* * *

 

The bell tinkled as Shiro entered the ‘Roadside Cafe’.

A high-browed, dark haired woman with tanned skinned and manicured but practical fingernails pursed her lips and frowned.

“You are late, boy.”

Shiro moved around the counter, and entered the staff-room, shrugging off his school bag.

“Sorry, Carmen. Professor Jordan had Matt and I stay late for our performance next week.”

Carmen’s frown deepened as Shiro washed his hands and grabbed an apron.

“Did you keep you in because he thinks you need the practice or because he likes you?”

She hadn’t uncrossed her arms since he had arrived.

“Hopefully the last one.”

Shiro stopped tying his apron, a frown settling on his features.

“Matt can’t afford to drop out. His parents invested so much in acting school . . .”

Carmen uncrossed her arms and sighed,

“You care too much for others, boy.”

Shiro laughed as the bell rang out again and a man stepped through the door.

“It’s not bad to be a _little_ selfless.”

Shaking her head, Carmen started to turn away then paused.

“Trust _me._ You’re more than a _little_ selfless. You’d best watch out, Takashi. One day, someone will take advantage of that,” she headed towards the register, adding quietly, “People always do.”

Shiro smiled and started to wipe down the bench.

Carmen loved dispensing her wisdom, Shiro never thought much of it.

* * *

 

Shiro couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the clock.

He loved work at the cafe, but time seemed to take an age to pass, and he needed to talk to Matt. Shiro had told him about the auditions, and Matt promised to call the number while Shiro was at work.

Finally, Carmen _asked_ Shiro if he could wash the dishes, _out of sight of the clock,_ and he momentarily forgot about the auditions.

Until he heard Matt’s voice ordering his usual flat white.

Shiro whooped (making Carmen raise an eyebrow) pulled the plug and ran to the staff-room, untying his apron as he did, and soon re-emerged with his bag, hurling himself into the booth next to Matt.

“Where are the auditions? What did they say? Do we have enough experience? I mean, we obviously have _minimal_. Ha! I just- What if we’re not good enough?!”

All this was asked at about a million miles an hour.

Matt took a sip of his coffee.

“Come on, Matt!” Shiro whined, “You know how important this is to me!”

Matt ignored him.

“I’ll tell Professor Prue you fancy her.”

Matt choked on his coffee slightly at the mention of their script reading and writing teacher, before abruptedly placing it on the table, making the liquid inside it slosh over the edge.

Choosing not to rise to Shiro’s bait, Matt said, “They told us to come along, not a lot of people have called in, so we have a pretty good chance.”

“That’s promising.”

“Yeah, and the auditions are in the lofts down the south end of town. Will you be able to get away from the cafe before six?”

Shiro frowned.

“My shift finishes at five-thirty,” he paused, counting on his fingers, “Yeah, I’d _just_ make it. Shit, what if I’m late? That would _not_ make a great impression.”

Matt shook his head.

“Shiro, shut up, and stop worrying. Everyone you meet loves you. It’s something about you I think, but all of our teachers love you, Carmen loves you, that old lady down the road who-”

Shiro interrupted, suppressing a laugh, “Matt, what are you getting at?”

Matt took a breath and clapped a hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine, Shiro. I know you can do this, _we_ can do this. I feel it in my bones.”

Shiro grinned, practically glowing.

“Thanks, Matt. You’re a great friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND I HAVE OFFICIALLY FOUND THE THEME SONG/VIDEO FOR THIS FANFICTION!!!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIcaOYC6FIs
> 
> IT'S SO GOOD!!!!


	3. Chapter Two:

Shiro woke up with his head buzzing and his tongue feeling like leather in his mouth.

He groaned, rolled over, and pulled his alarm clock close to his face, squinting.

11:34am, Thursday

Okay, so he’d been drinking last night. He always woke up at around midday after he’d been drinking.

He reached out to put the clock back onto the bedside table, and promptly dropped it, pulling the pillow over his head as it clattered noisily to the ground. Muttering expletives and complaints about his head, he sat up, and kicked the clock into the wall.

Surprisingly, this act of violence didn’t do much, if anything, to help the pain in his head.

He dropped his head into his hands as it throbbed angrily from the sudden altitude change.

“Fuck me.”

Standing, Shiro swayed dangerously as he staggered towards his closet. Grabbing a t-shirt, he pulled it over his head and continued staggering out of his bedroom.

He was going alright until he got to the hall and that was when -- for some obscure reason -- he decided to look at the front door.

Shiro will never know why, but the shade of purple paint on the door always made him feel nauseous, and now was no exception.  He doubled over, retching violently, and his knees hit the ground with an earsplitting (and bonecrunching) thud. Almost immediately there was a knock on the door.

“Shiro?”

It was Boudie’s voice.

Boudie and Jackson had been Shiro’s neighbours since he moved into the flat when he started at St. Tracy’s.

Both of them were mechanics at the workshop down the road.

Shiro hadn’t even suspected they were gay until he walked in on Boudie undoing Jackson’s belt with his teeth.

Their ship name is Backson. Shiro refuses to mention it ever again.

* * *

 

Before Shiro had even stopped throwing up, Boudie’s footsteps were receding into the flat next door. Shiro dragged himself to the wall and propped himself up against it.

The footsteps returned a few minutes later, and after a bit of shuffling, the door swung inwards, revealing Boudie’s freakishly tall form.

Boudie was tall and muscly, with a mop of unruly black hair. He was an incredible swimmer, and an amazing mechanic. He was good looking too, if you liked day old stubble and scarily dark, naturally tanned skin.

On the other hand, Jackson was starkly different. Short, skinny and blindingly white, with a slightly crooked back. But he was a pro automotive electrician, and could fix pretty much anything that had wires (even bras oddly enough (he had two younger sisters who were always breaking things)).

 He didn’t have an extremely good looking face with carved cheekbones and perfect eyes (unlike his boyfriend) but he did have a friendly face and once you got to know him, he was such a treasure of a human being that it seemed to _make_ him good looking.

Shiro groaned.

“I’m fine, dude, really,” he croaked.

Shiro’s Nan knew Jackson’s mum, and had asked if Jackson could keep an eye on Shiro for her. Unfortunately, Jackson could be extremely childish at times, and was a little bit annoying.

That’s where Boudie came in. Boudie was as serious as Jackson was immature; that is, a lot. Come to think of it, Shiro had only ever seen Boudie smile around his boyfriend.

Boudie padded lightly over to Shiro. He had the most unnerving ability to walk almost completely silently, even in his massive steel cap boots, and had scared the shit out of Shiro on more than one occasion.

Boudie spoke quietly, “You’re really lucky Jack’s not here. You wouldn’t hear the end of this,” as he spoke, he crouched down next to Shiro.

“Boudie, I’m not sick or anything. I was just up late last night-”

But interrupted with, “Drinking. We heard you,” after a slight hesitation he added, “With Matt. We had a bet on whether you’d be up in time for the morning lecture.”

Shiro frowned.

“I’m never up for the morning lecture.”

Boudie stood up to walk to the linen cupboard.

“Neither of us won. We both knew you wouldn’t be awake.”

* * *

 

“Dude, Shiro, you should so never do morning lectures,” Peter stated as soon as he saw Shiro.

The latter blinked sleepily as he stepped into the car.

“Why not? I might want to learn about photography with you.”

Peter coughed, choking back a laugh and shook his head vigorously as he pulled away from the curb. Just _thinking_ about doing all those things at once hurt Shiro.

“Nah, dude, stick to your acting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Peter laughed, some brown hair falling in front of his face.

“Dude! You look terrible! Do you have a hangover?”

Pulling a slight grimace at the cacophony of loud words hurled his way, Shiro nodded gently. Peter pulled a sympathetic face.

“Whatever, dude, I don’t blame you. Just don’t throw up on my car, alright?”

Shiro wanted to say, ‘I’m not going to be sick,’ but he actually felt rather queasy, so he didn’t want to make any promises.

* * *

 

Turns out, Shiro could have promised, he made it all the way to the campus before needing to make a runner to the toilets. Coincidentally, he found Matt there as well.

“Hey, Matt. Fancy meeting you here.”

Matt laughed weakly.

“Maybe getting drunk on the night before our performance wasn’t the best idea.”

Shiro shook his head, although he secretly agreed.

“Nonsense. It gives you, uh, stamina. Besides, it’s not even really a performance, it’s just a little skit in front of Professor Jordan.”

Matt nodded distractedly.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

* * *

 

But the performance went off without a hitch, despite Matt’s worries.

They decided to celebrate at ‘The Roadside Cafe’. (Shiro only worked there from Friday to Wednesday, skipping Sunday.)

Matt hadn’t even started his coffee when his phone buzzed and lit up. He grabbed it quickly and muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.

Standing up, he shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed his bag.

“I’m so sorry, Shiro, I got to go. But I’ll see you at the auditions. We don’t have a lecture tomorrow, right?”

Shiro nodded.

“It’s optional, we’re learning how to use the sound equipment and lighting.”

Matt swung his bag onto his back.

“I think I’ll pass. See you at the auditions, Shiro.”

Shiro grinned.

“Sure, see you there.”

* * *

 

After Matt had made his exit, Shiro was left staring at Matt’s untouched black coffee.

 _‘I don’t like black coffee,’_ was all he could think.

Besides, why wasn’t Matt drinking his coffee? Was something wrong? He would tell Shiro if something was wrong. Wouldn’t he?

Shiro sighed and took a sip of his tea. Someone stopped in front of his table.

“Is this seat taken?”

Shiro looked up quickly. The girl was wearing dark red climbing pants, and a blue, red and yellow flannel; unbuttoned all the way down to reveal a Captain America t-shirt. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun with a couple of pencils sticking out of it haphazardly. A dark blue satchel was swung over one of her shoulders.

Shiro felt his face heat up for various reasons.

“Um . . . no?”

“You don’t seem very sure of that.”

She took a seat anyway though, depositing her satchel on the ground next to her chair. She peered into Matt’s discarded coffee.

“Did your mate leave without drinking his coffee? He’s insane. This place makes the best coffees in the whole of Lighthouse Bay,” she held a hand out over the table, “Elizabeth Bishop.”

Shiro shook her hand.

“It does?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve spent my Thursdays experimenting. It’s my payday so I usually spend my money on coffee. As you do.”

Shiro desperately wracked his brain for reasons as to why he had never been into the cafe on Thursdays. The only reason that came to mind was the fact that he didn’t work on Thursdays and that, of course, was an unacceptable excuse. Look at what he was missing out on.

Elizabeth smiled a small smile.

“You still haven’t told me your name?” She provided.

“Oh! Takashi Shirogane, but everyone calls me Shiro,” he gestured to the coffee, “You’re welcome to it if you like.”

“Really?” She asked, then muttered, “Well, wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

Shiro felt a smile growing on his face that he could not -- and had no intention -- to control.

“Where do you work?”

After mixing about ten sachets of sugar into it, Elizabeth took a sip of coffee.

“I work at the garage on the edge of town, by the cliffs, below the old factories.”

Shiro immediately perked up. When it came to cars, he mostly just went with whatever didn’t fall apart, but he knew a shit-tonne about rally cars, courtesy of Boudie and Jackson, who worked at a workshop that dealt with them.

“Wait, the one that does rally cars, right?”

She nodded grinning.

“Yeah! How do you know about it?”

Shiro shrugged bashfully.

“My neighbours work there. Boudie and Jackson?”

Elizabeth grinned over her coffee.

“Yeah, I know those two trouble-makers. Boudie’s actually taught me almost everything I know about rally cars. God, he’s a laugh.”

Were they talking about two different people? Shiro had almost never heard Boudie’s laugh, let alone him cracking a joke.

“He seems really . . . serious to me.”

She shook her head, chuckling.

“Oh, no, he really isn’t. He’s seriously goofy. Like, dance around to the radio, badly singing, using a monkey wrench as a microphone, goofy.”

“Wow, it’s almost like we’re talking about two completely different people.”

She laughed.

“Maybe putting up with Jackson all the time does that to you?”

Shiro grinned.

“Yeah, I guess it would.”

After a few more minutes of chat, Elizabeth looked at her watch.

“Well, that’s me. I should probably be heading home. Give Boudie and Jackson my love, not literally, but you know what I mean. It was great to meet you.”

Shiro grinned.

“It was great to meet you too.”

They made their goodbyes and Shiro headed home feeling his heart fluttering in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm really proud of this chapter. As you can probably tell, I don't do chapter summaries. I don't really see the point . . . Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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